My Start in a Dying Art

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    My Start in a Dying Art

    When forced to create 
    I cut my teeth on haiku 
    I adore the pain  

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    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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    nightscrawling’s Poems (36)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    Red Fairy Come To Stay 0
    Rain Drops Plod Plum Leaves 0
    My Drag Queen Mother 0
    My Start in a Dying Art 0
    A Boy in a Mask 0
    Nichelle 0
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    Dittman's Door #4 0
    Dittman's Door #3 0
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    Dreams 2
    I Think It’s Dead 2
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